


Guess I'm Stuck With You, And That's That

by geralt_of_rivia



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Angst, Caretaking, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, M/M, Minor Violence, Mutual Pining, Poisoning, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Protective Jaskier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-09
Updated: 2020-01-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:08:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22182316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geralt_of_rivia/pseuds/geralt_of_rivia
Summary: “I’m poisoned,” the man grunted as Jaskier frantically yanked him over onto his side, his trembling hands flitting to his chest and rugged face. “Get out of here.”Jaskier’s heart was in his throat. Of all the things, of all the shit he always got Geralt into, he wasn’t losing the man to a damned plant. He wasn’t losing him at all. “I’m not leaving you!”“Go,” Geralt panted, ripped the spine out of his leg, and then promptly passed out.orThe fic where Jaskier is left with no choice but to be the hero.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 47
Kudos: 2063





	Guess I'm Stuck With You, And That's That

**Author's Note:**

> We all know Jaskier is a little spitfire and must be taken seriously HE WILL PROTECT HIS WITCHER WITH HIS LIFe.
> 
> Title from All Falls Down by Alan Walker and Noah Cyrus because I just love that line heheheh.

His legs ached, his feet ached, and his stomach was gurgling uncomfortably. They had been _so_ close to the first bit of food that wasn’t berries and moldy bread in what felt like a century, but was of course a mere day and a half. But of course, things had gone awry and they’d been all but driven out of the village that had offered food and an inn to rest. To show just how uncomfortable he was, Jaskier shuffled his feet and groaned, grabbing onto the pack that was draped over the side of Roach and allowing her to practically drag him along. 

“Stop sulking,” came the witcher’s gruff voice from the saddle above. 

“Says the man who doesn’t have to _walk_ ,” Jaskier retorted back. “These feet are fragile, Geralt. Fragile. And I’m hungry.”

Geralt gave an answering snort, “Everytime you ride behind me, you somehow manage to fall off.” 

“Because you’re a saddle hog- _The brave White Wolf rides true across the land, taking down evil with sword in hand, but there’s little room aboard for a humble bard with class, as the Witcher hogs the saddle with his ridiculously thick ass_ -”

Roach stopped so suddenly that Jaskier nearly crashed into her front flank. Geralt had reached into his pack, and Jaskier darted backwards to avoid getting something launched at his head. However, Geralt simply had pulled out their last loaf of bread wrapped in cloth and held it out to the bard. 

“You can have this only if you _never_ write another verse to that. It’ll be at least nightfall before we make it to another village for food.” 

With a cautious hand, Jaskier took the bread. At least _nightfall_. Granted, they wouldn’t have to sleep on the hard ground if they made it to an inn by nightfall, but bread wasn’t precisely filling sustenance. Jaskier ran his fingers over the hard crust, his eyes flitting back up to meet Geralt’s. The witcher had a single eyebrow raised, clearly waiting for Jaskier’s agreement. 

“What will _you_ eat?”

“I won’t.” 

Well, that wasn’t going to work. Jaskier broke the loaf in half, offering it back out to Geralt, “One of us is going to need our energy if we come across some kind of bloodthirsty monster, and we both know it’s not me.” 

The white haired man was always attempting to slip Jaskier larger portions of their food like the bard wouldn’t notice. He may have been a mere human, but he had first hand heard Geralt’s stomach rumble a time or two before. Geralt still got hungry, just as Jaskier did, and Jaskier wasn’t going to allow the self sacrificing bastard to let him eat their last bit of food. 

“I’m fine.” 

With that, he left Jaskier holding the broken loaf in his hands and urged Roach forward once more. Jaskier wasn’t about to take no for an answer, but knew he would get nowhere arguing with the witcher. Instead, he wrapped back up the half loaf and attempted to sneakily slip it back into Geralt’s pack. Geralt caught his wrist almost immediately, Roach halting once more. 

“Come to think of it, I’m not that hungry, so…” Jaskier mumbled. “Geralt, please.”

“Eat the damn bread, Jaskier, I’m fine.” 

“I’ll just save the other half for later,” Jaskier insisted, and Geralt reluctantly let the bard drop the bread back into the pack. 

Although Jaskier did like to complain, it was simply his way of making conversation with the unchatty man. Most of the time Jaskier was able to hold a conversation for the both of them. He quieted down to nibble on the bread, however, and the two men and Roach finally reached the edge of a thickening of trees. Walking through a forest would get the hot sun off of their backs for a bit, and for that, Jaskier was grateful. 

He eagerly strode ahead, ignoring Geralt’s huff of protest. There was always an unspoken rule, ever since Jaskier had walked smack into a noonwraith, that Geralt led the way. Yet the forest seemed less like a murderous place and rather relief from the early afternoon heat. 

Jaskier was only several paces in front of Geralt and Roach, barely breaching the trees when something whizzed past Jaskier’s head. He dropped the loaf of bread he held in surprise. 

“Jaskier, stop!” Geralt ordered. 

“The fuck was that?” Jaskier said instead, but then he felt Geralt’s hand seizing him by the back of the shirt collar and hauling him backwards. 

The man was stiff, his amber eyes darting around the forest. Jaskier hadn’t even heard him dismount Roach, but suddenly he was shoved backward further. 

“Take Roach and get out of the trees,” Geralt ordered, unsheathing his sword. 

“What _is_ it Geralt, what’s wro-”

“ _Jaskier_!”

And then, the ground cracked in front of them, a large russet colored vine breaking through the earth and stretching up in front of them. It was bulbed at the end, unfurling itself the taller it grew before the head of it blossomed out like a-

“It’s- a flower?” Jaskier began, but then the _flower_ reared back with a horrid screeching sound. “Not a flower, not a flower!”

Spines of some sort shot forth from the bloom, and Geralt was able to deflect them away with his sword before he shot forward to slice the vine at its plant like base. The thing screeched again, writhing on the ground before it quite literally dug itself back into the earth. 

“Get _out_ of here,” Geralt commanded, turning just enough to shove Jaskier back. 

“Is it not dead?!” Jaskier shrieked. “What the fuck was that thing Geralt?” 

“Archespore,” the man said irritably. “And all I did was piss it off and earn you time to get the _fuck_ out-”

Roach, always the clever girl, had fled back to the forest opening. Jaskier was going to do the same, was going to listen to Geralt, but the cracking of earth from behind them had him seizing onto the witcher in terror. 

“Well then how do you kill it?!” he shouted in alarm. 

“Fire, generally,” Geralt grunted. Still, the plant like beast had yet to show itself again, a mere bulb resting behind them. Jaskier moved toward it, intending to dart past it and get to Roach as Geralt had instructed. But, the taller man held him back by the belt. “If you get near that, it will explode poison right into your face- just fucking _stay close-”_

“No argument there!” he squeaked. 

From their right side, spines whizzed in their direction once more. Geralt once more deflected them- or, most of them. There was a sickening squelch, and Jaskier flinched back and waited for the pain that didn’t come. 

“Fuck.” 

Jaskier’s eyes cracked open, and he turned his gaze onto Geralt. The man had his teeth gritted, his hand braced around a spine imbedded just above his knee. And then the witcher collapsed. 

“Geralt!” Jaskier cried out in alarm, dropping to his knees next to the crumpled man. 

“I’m poisoned,” the man grunted as Jaskier frantically yanked him over onto his side, his trembling hands flitting to his chest and rugged face. “Get out of here.”

Jaskier’s heart was in his throat. Of all the things, of all the shit he always got Geralt into, he wasn’t losing the man to a damned plant. He wasn’t losing him at _all_ . “I’m not _leaving_ you!” 

“ _Go,”_ Geralt panted, ripped the spine out of his leg, and then promptly passed out. 

“Geralt!” Jaskier shook the man desperately. He pressed his hands to the Witcher’s throat to find a pulse, but the slow thud beneath his fingertips wasn’t enough to soothe the sheer panic bubbling up in his throat. He had to get Geralt away from the damned Archespore and to a healer. 

The _Archespore._ His head snapped up to find that it still remained ominously several yards in front of the crumpled two. Swaying, almost _mockingly_. Jaskier gritted his teeth, a burst of rage filling him suddenly. 

“You fucking _dick,”_ he bellowed at the monster, straightening up from his hunched position over the man he was so helplessly fond of. Spines rained down again, and he desperately covered Geralt’s unconscious form with his smaller one. The spines missed by inches, which was a blessing considering he’d be no use to Geralt if _he_ died. The Witcher would without a doubt find him in the afterlife and throttle him. He spared one last touch to Geralt’s cheek and ducked down to press a worried kiss to the scarred brow of his witcher. “I’m not leaving you.” 

And with that, he darted up and away from the plant and Geralt. The bulb still blocked his direct path, but he heeded Geralt’s warning and gave the pulsing red blob a wide berth in a desperate attempt to make it to Roach and Geralt’s pack. The Archespore shrieked behind him, he prayed to whatever entity would listen that it would leave Geralt be as he reached Roach. 

The horse was clearly distraught, snorting and stomping the earth anxiously. She was just as worried for Geralt as Jaskier was, most likely. He dug frantically through the pack of potions. At least one of them had to make flame, but all he could find was measly flint and steel, and it would _have_ to do. He ripped the cloth that once held the other half of the bread loaf and decided to search for a long enough stick. 

A torch, a torch would have to work, and he scrambled around in the pack once more in search for an oil vial. He thankfully found it, dousing the cloth in it and then racing back into the trees for a large stick. The vine was no longer where it once was, but was instead poised _right_ over Geralt’s crumpled form - and Jaskier had never felt such a strong sense of fear. 

“Hey you ugly fuck!” he shouted. Spines shot his way, and he ducked in alarm. He was going to have to be much faster in making a damn torch. He picked up the chosen stick, frantically wrapping the cloth around it. The sound of cracking ground had him glancing up to find the plant retreating back into the earth. Geralt would have killed the damn thing by now if he hadn’t been distracted by Jaskier, Jaskier _knew_ it. Still, there was no time to dwell on his stupid actions, but there was still time to fix them. 

He dropped to his knees and struck the flint and steel together frantically, holding them over the torch and praying that the sparks would alight the cloth. And much to his relief, they did. Just as the earth broke in front of him and the giant bulb of the plant shot upward. He shoved the flaming stick directly into the archespore’s ugly blooming face, hearing it screech in agony. It lashed out at him, whipping him across the cheek with a vine, but he didn’t pull back until the vine completely caught flame and writhed back, crumpling to the earth as the rest of it went up in flame. It’s ugly head was attempting to burrow back into the ground, but Jaskier rose to his feet and shoved the torch further into the Archespore. The heat was burning his hand and arm, but he didn’t relent until the bloom was mere ashes. 

Only then did he stomp on the cinders beneath him, spitting at them in fury, “Make sure you tell all of hell not to fuck with The White Wolf and his bard.” 

And all at once the adrenaline driven fear dispersed and left cold terror in its place. _Geralt_. He scrambled over the dead Archespore, racing to where Geralt was still curled on his side on the ground. The man was pale, his skin nearly matching his white hair, and Jaskier checked his pulse once more as a lump rose in his throat. It was slow, but Jaskier wasn’t sure what was dangerously slow when it came to a witcher. 

“Geralt?” he croaked, his hand helplessly patting Geralt’s cheek. He wasn’t sure what to do, but he felt like doing something ridiculous like- like _crying_. And before he could stop them, tears spilled over his eyes and dropped down his cheeks. “Geralt, please, I don’t know what to do now-”

But then, as if Destiny decided to grace the bard, Geralt was rocketing up into a sitting position so fast that he nearly knocked his head into Jaskier. 

“Jaskier!” Geralt gasped out, seizing onto the bard and yanking him protectively close. His eyes were wild as he looked around for danger, but his gaze fell across the forest path to the now dead Archespore. “It- you- are you _hurt_?”

Jaskier had never been more relieved to hear that gruff voice and feel those roughed hands clutching onto him, “Oh thank _fuck_.”

Hands seized Jaskier’s face with surprising gentleness, forcing the bard to meet the witcher’s gaze, “Your cheek- you’re crying?” 

Calloused thumbs swiped the wetness from Jaskier’s cheeks, prodded at the welt left from being smacked by the writhing vine. Jaskier huffed out a sad laugh, and the tears only fell quicker, “I really thought that you were going to die- wait, you’re not, right?”

“My- my pack,” Geralt huffed. He attempted to push himself further up, but crumpled backward once more. 

Jaskier grasped onto the heavier man with a grunt before he could knock his head onto the ground, “ _Geralt!”_

“I’m okay, I’m fine,” he panted. “In my pack there’s a vial of gold liquid. Bring it to me? And get the chamomile balm for your cheek.” 

Still, Jaskier shifted Geralt so that he was able to slide his arms under Geralt’s armpits and pull. Which, god damn, the man was heavy solid muscle, but the fact that he didn’t croak out any protests as Jaskier pulled him to lean against a tree had Jaskier wildly concerned. 

“Just whistle and Roach will bring the pack,” Geralt huffed out, his eyes seeming heavy. “I don’t- I’m not going to be able to stay awake much longer. Archespore venom drains my energy- but it shouldn’t kill me as it would were I human. Which is why you were _supposed_ to leave.”

Jaskier whistled just as he was instructed, and Roach dutifully approached, “I wasn’t going to leave you to be spined to death by that thing, not when you only got hurt because I didn’t listen.” 

Geralt reached up to cup Jaskier’s cheek, the corner of his mouth quirking up, “If you ever actually listened to me, I’d be concerned for your health. But the vial…”

“Shit,” Jaskier stood up promptly, stroking along Roach’s side in gratitude before grabbing Geralt’s pack. He dropped back down to the man’s side, thrusting the pack out to Geralt. Still, his emotions were betraying him as more tears slipped down his face. Whether they were tears of fear or relief, Jaskier wasn’t sure. 

“Hmm,” Geralt patted the pack. “I won’t lie- my vision is far too dark around the edges to see properly.” 

Jaskier dug into the pack to find the vial Geralt spoke up, finding a small glass bottle filled with gold liquid, “This?” 

He received a hum of confirmation. 

Jaskier batted away the witcher’s hand and pulled the cork out with his teeth. Geralt’s hands seemed far too unsteady to use, so Jaskier guided the bottle to his lips and helped the man down the bottle. The witcher spluttered, and Jaskier all but ripped out the flask of water within the rest of their belongings. He guided that to Geralt’s lips as well, taking it upon himself to wipe up the dribbled stream that spilled down Geralt’s chin. 

“Jaskier,” Geralt finally spoke softly as Jaskier screwed the lid back onto the flask, turning away to tuck it safely back into the pack. 

“Yes?” 

“Look at me.” 

Jaskier did as he was told, meeting the amber eyes that he could never quite read. However, this time, they were far softer than usual. Still, Jaskier caught those eyes looking at him in such a way more times than one.

“I’m so sorry-” 

“Please stop crying,” Geralt interrupted gently. “I’m going to most likely sleep soon- but I’m going to be fine. Thank you.” 

“Gods, Geralt, I thought- I really thought I had fucked things up and that I was going to lose you. You’re supposed to outlive me and continue on being The White Wolf that spares this damned world from downfall.” 

Geralt was quiet for a moment, but he opened his arms, “Come here.”

“What?” 

“Come _here_ ,” and with surprising strength for the clearly weakened man, Jaskier was yanked against the broad chest. “I’m glad you’re safe. You’re an idiot, but you’re a brave idiot. Thank you.” 

And Jaskier completely broke, clinging onto those strong shoulders and blubbering out further apologies into Geralt’s neck. The witcher simply stroked Jaskier’s back gently, and even Roach ducked her head to gently nuzzle against Jaskier’s hair. After a few minutes of clinging and trying to match his breathing to Geralt’s steady, slow heartbeat, Jaskier felt Geralt’s arms slacken in just the slightest. 

He pulled back enough to glance up at the man, finding him once more fast asleep. They certainly were no longer going to be making it to that town. Instead, Jaskier pulled himself loose from Geralt’s grasp to set up camp. 

Firstly, he found Geralt’s sword abandoned where he had collapsed. He dragged the heavy silver closer to Geralt before searching for the flint and steel near the Archespore ashes. A fire would be necessary to keep away the more… alarming animals that could approach when night fell. Jaskier may have killed his first monster, but he wasn’t prepared to take on a pack of wolves without Geralt. 

And thus he set up a small fire, created a small pallet of blankets and bed rolls. Maneuvering Geralt onto the pallet proved to be a task, but Jaskier somehow managed. He momentarily considered walking off to find berries or something other than the half loaf of bread they had left, but he certainly was no longer hungry after all the shit he had just been through. Still… he wouldn’t have traded it for anything. Wouldn’t leave Geralt behind for anything, even if the witcher was fully capable of making it without him. Thus, he certainly couldn’t bring himself to leave Geralt alone long enough to find food. He’d just give him the loaf when he awoke for good - would force feed it to Geralt if the White Wolf objected. 

It was late evening when Jaskier finally deemed their camp safe and set up enough to settle down next to Geralt. The witcher had rolled onto his side in his sleep, his white hair sprawled out across his face and shoulders. Jaskier settled beside him, Roach standing protectively close by, and gently carded his fingers through the tangled locks. He was… exhausted, and figured he should try to sleep a little before night came. There was no way in hell he’d let his guard down when darkness fell. 

Still, he worried for the man beside him. So as he lay back on the small pallet, he wiggled up close behind Geralt in order to slide an arm over him and press it over the man’s heart. As long as it was beating, Jaskier would be just fine- monsters be damned. And by snuggling up against Geralt’s warm and sturdy back, Jaskier almost immediately passed out. 

  
  


Jaskier was unsure how long he slept, but he was awoken by slight movement against his chest, and then an amused grunt. The lack of light filtering through his eyelids told him he had slept far longer than he planned. 

“Hmm.” 

Jaskier’s eyes flashed open to find that he was clinging to Geralt like a baby opossum to its mother, and he swallowed hard, “Uh… I could feel your heartbeat this way... to make sure you weren’t going to die on me?”

“I must admit, I’ve never been the little spoon before.”

“I’m… sorry,” Jaskier moved to pull back, but Geralt grabbed his retreating arm. 

“I’m not complaining. Stay.” 

The forest was dark around them aside from the dwindling firelight, but Jaskier had… genuinely never felt safer, even if he was the one curled protectively around Geralt. This wasn’t something they generally did, but it was something Jaskier wanted to do for the rest of his life. He obeyed Geralt’s request and once more nuzzled up against the witcher’s back. 

They weren’t going to ever discuss it, most likely. Geralt spoke through his actions and his heart, not his voice. Jaskier loved him, unabashedly and wholly. And he felt, that in his own odd way, Geralt was showing just how much he felt for his bard as well. They wouldn’t talk about it. But as Jaskier nuzzled his face between Geralt’s shoulders, that he would sing about it until the day he died, and that he would follow this man, his White Wolf, to the ends of the sphere. 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope that wasn't too terribly awful! I love you all and thanks for reading.


End file.
